These Kinds of Mornings
by saunatonttu
Summary: Cuba has to deal with something he'd rather not after a night of drinking. "Stupid capitalist pig." Cuba/America, kind of. Rated T for the language and implications as to what happened between them.


**A/N: Can it be? I have written a fic without England for once? OH YES, IT CAN. **

**I am pretty much in love with Cuba myself - and I have to admit, I love the relationship he and America have. xD Especially the quarrels. **

**I'm not exactly happy with the way I wrote this, but at least I got this out of my head - this has been bothering me for a while. This couple, that is. In both romantic and non-romantic sense. **

**So, yes. Cuba/America. -drools- **

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><p>These Kinds of Mornings<p>

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><p>Sunlight was trickling slowly into the room from the open windows, sending warmth and light for the occupants of the large bedroom.<p>

It was a calm, silent morning with only the slightest of breeze coming inside the room, making the curtains dance around in swaying motions and creating an oddly calm atmosphere which would be broken immediately when either one of the two would wake up.

A low groan broke the silence of the bright morning.

"Damn..." a low, sleepy voice growled and a tanned hand rose from under the sheets to ruffle his dark dreadlocks. A pair of brown eyes were revealed as the more tanned male's eyelids reluctantly opened themselves to glare at the intrusive light.

He really liked the warmth of the sun and all, but why did it have to be so fucking sunny every morning after the night of partying and drinking?

Every. Fucking. Time.

Oh well, he supposed that having lots of sunny days was nicer in comparison to England's weather, although he wasn't well acquainted with that.

As Cuba lazily started to roll his body over the bed in order to actually get himself up, he became aware of the insistent arms that rested around his abdomen. And they wouldn't let go, tightening their grip as he tried to shake them off.

"The fuck...?" the Cuban male grunted as he tried to peer over his broad shoulders to glare at the one holding him.

Absolutely nothing could have prepared the Cuban nation for the shock when he recognized the owner of the strong arms pulling Cuba closer.

Behind him, leaning onto his back like a leech he was, lay America who was still so disturbingly happily sleeping that it wasn't even funny.

Cuba couldn't see America's face fully but since he had a rather nasty feeling of something damp trickling onto his back, he could imagine that the idiot was drooling like an idiotic child he was. Disgusting, that's what America was.

Cuba could, however, see the bush that was America's hair and for a moment, he stopped to admire it as the sunlight highlighted the almost golden hair strands that America had.

As much as it disgusted Cuba to admit such a thing, the American was kin of gorgeus in the rising sun's light. Which was one thing that pissed Cuba off about him.

Honestly, he hated this man – despised, scorned, _hated_... There were so many words that could be used about his feelings towards this American idiot. Most of the words were negative, of course.

It was ridiculous... _America _was absolutely ridiculous. Defending his ideology so fervently that wars broke out... Cuba would never undestand why America kept doing so just for his _ideology. IF _it was only for his ideology, that is.

It was that much easier to think that the ideology was just an excuse, which it most likely was. At least in Cuba's opinion. If it were just for his ideology... then America could be considered a persistent idiot which to some meant the same as a hero.

Having seen America in the past, Cuba knew it had never been that. Which is why he refused to be fooled like the others into believing that the American was a complete idiot. No, wait, he did believe that America was a complete idiot.

A very dangerous complete idiot, that is.

Cuba narrowed his eyes at the oblivious American and struggled against the firm hold on his middle section. How had he ended up with America in the same bed anyways?

Considering the fact that they both were completely naked, it was painfully obvious what had happened, but Cuba was trying his best not to think of that. As long as capitalism wasn't an STD, everything would be fine.

And since this had happened few times before, it was safe to say that capitalism was indeed NOT an STD of any sort.

That _still _didn't mean Cuba enjoyed waking up next to the bastard he wished that would just go to hell to burn eternally like he deserved. Nor did he enjoy having the asshole's arms wrapped tightly around his waist or abdomen or whatever the hell they were wrapped around when he'd wake up.

In fact, Cuba wanted to scream, to light this room on fire and pretend that this had never happened. But there were two reasons he couldn't do that. First of all, this was his house and burning his house down would only end up being a bigger pain in his ass than America was. (No pun intended! And it was totally Cuba who topped that fucking idiot. Totally.)

Second of all, this would actually be rather good blackmail in the future. Because showing the world that America indeed was just as much of a hypocrite as the rest of them wasn't something that America wanted, right?

Even though it was hard to blackmail someone when you didn't even remember what had happened yourself.

Psh, that didn't matter. America didn't need to know that – and considering that the American had been even more inebriated than the Cuban meant that the Northern American wouldn't have any kinds of memories of the previous night. But the pain should be enough proof that something had happened, no?

Cuba grinned wickedly to himself, mentally cackling like a maniac. America considered him a threat for a good reason.

"Hey, asshole", Cuba grunted out when he finally couldn't stand feeling the other's skin against his back. Plus, the drool was starting to tick him off. Every fucking time...! And America's oddly serene expression, despite being very peculiarly cute, did nothing to lessen the annoyance that overtook Cuba.

"Who... ya callin' an asshole, asshole..." came the drowsy reply from the still sleeping American and Cuba, just for that, wanted to hit America to his head. Wait, he actually did that. Instantly after America had uttered those words, a fist met with Alfred's head, which caused the said American open his eyes and groan loudly and painfully.

"The fuck was that for?" America shouted and brought his hands to hold his suffering head. He was already having a headache and some stupid jerk had just punched him to his head! What the hell, world?

"For being a complete jackass", Cuba growled back as he climbed onto his two feet now that he was completely free from the clutches of America. "Which is nothing new", he sneered as America's bewildered eyes met with his brown ones.

"..." America continued to stare at the island nation with a befuddled expression on his face (which made Cuba snicker since that expression was just PRICELESS) and wide, blue eyes as he tried to grasp the situation at hand.

It was very hilarious to see how Alfred F. Jones tried to place the pieces together in this puzzle that was otherwise completely normal morning.

And then America made the mistake of moving. Immediately a pained look replaced the previous expression on Alfred's face and few mumbled curses were heard.

Meanwhile, Cube was trying to find his bright-colored shirt without much success and he was huffing angrily with his hands on his hips when Alfred interjected his searching.

"What the hell did you do to me, you fucking commie ass?" he snarled and managed to sound as convincing as a drunk England with the pained tone of his voice. Cuba, feeling rather gleeful by the pained voice of America, smirked at his previous night's bed partner.

"Nothing you wouldn't have done to me had I not been more sober than you", the Cuban said deceivingly lightly, his expression being rather dark, which contradicted his tone. "Idiot", Cuba added.

"You're the idiot!" America snarled heatedly, his face contorting into an angry expression despite the day being too young for anyone to be so angry.

Cuba shrugged, deciding that arguing with America was pretty worthless now although it had its own peaks. "Whatever you say, capitalist pig." Oh, wait. He just thought of a good insult. "Speaking of pigs, you drooled like one when you slept." At this point, Cube sent the brash American a harsh glare.

America had the decency to blush, but Cuba didn't have much time to note the redness on other's cheeks when Alfred exploded at him. "The fuck? I'm not dealing with you this early in the morning or I'll really nuke your sorry ass before nightfall! So shut the fuck up and leave my house this instant!"

"You're really messed up", Cuba sighed irritably, his hand running through his dark dreadlocks. "This ain't your house, bastard."

"What do you mean this ain't my house, you -" America paused to look at the room around him, his face falling as he scrutinized every inch of the room. "Oh. So that's what you meant by that."

Cuba's brows twitched in annoyance. "What else could I have meant, you imbecile?" he shouted frustratedly at the obnoxious American and seriously considered pummeling the other to his head again.

"Am not!" America grumbled, rubbing the back of his head that still ached from the hit he had received. "Ya know, I could easily tell others that you assaulted me! And it wouldn't even be a lie!"

Cuba raised his eyebrows at the young American and snorted in amusement. "How in the hell are you going to explain what you were doing in my house to them?"

America blinked slowly at the question. "Y'know, I didn't think about that", he said thoughtfully as he lazily stretched his arms and yawned.

"Of course you didn't", Cuba sighed irately and barely suppressed the want to call America a jackass for the umpteenth time that morning. It was really hard not to call him that, you know? Especially for him since he hated the idiot with his whole heart.

"Ah, by the way, Cuba", America's voice suddenly turned into a serious one and Cuba almost gave up on his quest to find his shirt for just that. It had been pretty long time since America had called him by his nation name without any insults attached to it, like 'communist ass' or 'fucking asshole' et cetera.

"Hmm?" the Cuban male hummed in response as his eyes swept around the room, trying to locate his missing piece of clothing. He didn't care finding his underwear or even his pants, he just wanted that shirt. It was his trademark, kind of.

Even if that meant showing off his rear end to the American.

The American himself was finding himself actually enjoying the free show he was given, although he knew it wasn't on purpose.

"Have you ever slept with Russia?" America questioned genuinely curiously, his face taking annoyingly innocent look which Cuba couldn't really see but he could sense it.

"What the fuck, America?" Cuba instantly dropped his search for his clothes an turned to glare at him in all his naked glory. "Why the hell would you ask somerthing as stupid as that? Of course I haven't!"

The heated glare didn't seem to affect the American in any way and so, instead of cowering in fear like he should be, America just tilted his head and gave a questioning look with hints of utter disbelief on his face.

"Eh, but you're a commie..."

"HOW DOES THAT EXPLAIN YOUR QUESTION!"

America gave him a meaningful look. "Well, China slept with him and he got into communism", he stated plainly as if it was as clear as a day. "Obviously you did too."

"You..." Cuba literally shook with tge rage building up inside him. This guy...! This stupid, idiotic excuse of a nation...! "Should I take it as you sleep with every capitalist nation, then?" he snarled aggressively, defiantly crossing his arms over his muscular chest.

America's face paled slightly from the accusation directed towards him. "Don't lower me down to your level, commie!" he retorted and so the familiar quarrel started, ending up as a physical wrestle between the two of them until they were too tired to continue.

Exhausted, and still suffering from the hangover, Cuba resigned himself to lay on the bed next to the American oddball and trying to ignore the pounding headache inside his skull that made him all the more hostile towards Alfred F. Jones, aka the biggest jerk the universe had ever known.

"Hey, this isn't so bad." That plain statement, coming from America, surprised the heck out of the tanned nation and he cast another annoyed look in the direction of Alfred.

"Just speak for yourself, you idiot..." he groaned out wearily, feeling way too exhausted to push the other away as he was pulled into a loose half-hug, which should have felt disturbing considering the fact that they were both still unclothed.

_Well, _Cuba silently thought to himself as he felt his consciousness slip away bit by bit, _if only he wasn't America, these morning could be rather enjoyable. _

Of course, later on he would deny that he had ever thought about such a disgracing thing as enjoying his time with someone like Alfred.


End file.
